


Growing Up Is Hard

by polyxena_chatoyant



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Momoka is having a hard time, People swear, Self-Insert, descriptions of mental illness but not like graphic, grief recovery, idk the title is shit but whatevs., kinda ambiguous ending, mentions of the cradle affair, oh yeah, prequel fic, probably bad descriptions of boxing and muay thai, this is all word vomit fic with shitty formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 23:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14366310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyxena_chatoyant/pseuds/polyxena_chatoyant
Summary: (It's even harder when you've already done it once.)I really need a life, she thinks to herself despondently, staring at the ceiling fan. But this is the life of a three year old. Boring.(Alt-title: Momo should have knocked on wood because she jinxed herself.)





	Growing Up Is Hard

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started writing around 1pm and finished around 3:2something am. It's unbetaed, the formatting is weird, and it goes off on tangents randomly. I dunno, I think it's cool.

She is clumsy in this life, just like her old one. 

In her last life it showed in the way she could never set things down without knocking them over again, in the way she bumped into things with her hips and shoulders, in the way her toes caught the lip of a stair wrong because she was going too fast, too enthusiastic about the destination. In this life, it is for both the same reasons and new ones; now, her limbs are too short and she overreaches, and she is always cold. The cold seeps out from her bones instead of into them, and she’s certain it has to do with the all-consuming warmth from her death-birth combination, though she has no proof. It makes her curl in tighter around herself, and a tense body doesn’t absorb shock as well as a loose, pliant one. (She should know.)

 

\---

 

Her name is Momoka now, and she only knows this because of way her new mother lovingly whispers it into the hairless skin of her scalp while holding her new, infant body. It’s an odd feeling, and entirely unwelcome. Momoka can’t do anything about it more than shift slightly, her new muscles too weak for how desperately she itches to get away from her mother. 

_ I don’t trust you! _ She wants to scream.  _ A mother’s love never did me any good before, why the hell would it now?  _

She’s still grieving the loss of everything that made her  _ her _ . Her death is an open wound that this woman stretches wider and wider with every soft caress and kiss. There’s nothing she can do about it, now way for Momoka to reverse time and undo what happened, and it hurts. 

An infant’s body has no way to relieve stress aside from cry, so that’s what she does. It distresses her mother, she notes, from the way the woman’s whispers turn almost frantic with forced calm, the arms around her rocking in an attempt to soothe her. It only makes it worse.

_ I was just starting to make it!  _ Momoka laments, her next sob coming out with more force than the others previous.  _ Everything was just starting to go right! It’s not fair! It’s not fair! _

 

\---

 

She meets - as much as she can, practically blind and with no motor skills - her father what seems like weeks after her birth, but what she knows has only been days. An infant needs to sleep a lot, more than she’s used to, but the times she is awake seem to drag on and on and on. Every minute of she spends drifting between sobs and a numb-empty calm she knows too well. ( _ Even now? _ She begs internally. Mental illness followed her into another life like some sort of cosmic parasite, it seems.)

She hates him - her father. Just like she hates her mother. They don’t deserve, not that she knows of, but her feelings do not change.

He holds her gracelessly, and she can feel the lack of support her head has all the way down to her toes before a nurse adjusts his arms gently. Something about him is familiar, though, and she realizes this is not actually the first time they’ve met. He must have been there in the delivery room, she thinks. Her birth, just like her death, is a jumbled memory of  _ no-no-no-idon’twantotdie! _ and heat and then being  _ so so so cold _ . She’s still cold, and thinks that an infant clearly needs a better blanket to be wrapped in than the one the Hospital has provided.

“Momoka,” her father whispers down at her, along with other things she can’t understand. The only reason she realizes it’s Japanese is because he apologized, and she’s seen enough anime to recognize that word, at least.

Her father stays there a while, sitting at her mother’s side as the two chat. Sometimes they talk to her. Sometimes her father speaks Italian, from what she can tell. She closes her eyes and ignores them. Eventually, she falls asleep.

 

\---

Her father stays for two weeks, just long enough for her new family to return to their house and settle in, before disappearing. Momoka ponders this for only a few minutes - did he die or is he just a deadbeat? - before remembering that she doesn’t care. That she’s been cheated, that if anything else she should have just stayed dead. That she wishes she were dead now.

She should try, she knows. This is like a second chance. Momoka knew how to bounce back from adversity, had earned that skill through hard work and determination, kept it well-oiled through constant use - but still she doesn’t look at her mother’s face other than to glare as the woman picks her up. 

Every long second she spends awake, she spends wishing she hadn’t died. Wondering how her grandparents are. Her friends. Her girlfriend. Wonders who ended up taking the cubical she worked so hard to get. Who parks in her parking place. Where her car ended up. If the soda she liked to drink ever got thrown out of the fridge.

For weeks, all she can think about is how everything she endured, everything she did to get where she was - was wasted. Like someone forgot to save their word document and now had no essay to turn in to their teacher. 

_ What’s the point? _ She thinks, laying awake in her crib and trying - failing - to make sense of the pattern of glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, but it’s all a blur.  _ Why do it all again when I know the outcome? _

 

\---

Her grief begins to wane after the second month of this life ends. It makes her angry. (Everything makes her angry.) She wants to scream, but not at the world for once, but at herself. It feels like a betrayal, no matter how much she knows it’s a good thing, that this means she’s not spiralling as fast into the void that is her own thoughts anymore. 

She lets her anger at herself fuel her. If she’s too busy being angry, she can’t be so empty and cold. And once she starts to get angry, it’s like she can’t stop finding things to be angry about. The way her eyes have developed so slowly. The way she still can barely move her own limbs. The way her mother still tries so damn hard when all Momoka wants is for her to go the fuck away. The fact that she ended up with  _ another _ deadbeat dad, even if this one shows his true colors way sooner. How  _ trapped _ she feels, like she’s a bird who escaped her cage for a few minutes before being recaptured.

Her mother doesn’t seem to know the difference between sad tears and angry tears. Neither did her last one, so it isn’t a surprise, and it’s not like Momoka wanted her to understand. All she wants is to go  _ home _ .

Momoka stays angry for another month, but in between the anger and feeling of being empty, she is bored. So bored. She doesn’t speak Japanese and her mother doesn’t take her out of the house enough for her to even vaguely hear English, let alone French. After so long with only her own thoughts for company, she starts to want to understand the people around her when they talk even as she never wants to be spoken to by them. 

Despite herself, Momoka starts paying attention. Her anger wanes because it’s so hard to stay angry when she’s focused like this, when she wants to learn. Nowadays the only time she cries is when she’s left alone for too long when awake, when she’s trying to speed up the process of crawling by attempting to roll over in her crib.

Her mother takes her to a park. Straps her into a stroller and practically skips behind it as Momoka is pushed helplessly. She distracts herself by trying to listen to the conversations around her, picking apart the enunciations and emphasises and tones. It’s hard, but it’s going faster than she thought it should be. Of course, they always did say the best time to learn a language was when you were young. Perhaps that’s why.

\---

She doesn’t know when, exactly, it happened. Suddenly, she’s halfway through her fifth month here and she’s laughing at some dumb children’s show in the living room, propped up by pillows on the floor, and her mother gasps softly from her place on the sofa behind her. It stops her in her tracks, and Momoka’s jaw snaps shut and her gums ache with the force of it. When she turns to look, her mother is staring at her with perhaps both the saddest and happiest eyes Momoka has ever seen. The woman holds her fingertips over her open mouth, staring down back at her.

“Did - did you find that funny, Momo-chan?” her mother asks softly, and it takes her a moment to decipher it. “You have such a pretty laugh, darling.”

It’s the first time she has ever laughed in this life. The realization is like a punch to the stomach. What hurts worse, though, is the lack of anger, the lack of sadness.

Momoka wants to not laugh. She wants to linger inside the numb-empty cold forever, thoughts filled with her past and a hatred of this present. 

But her mother’s eyes remind her too much like someone who’s witnessed a fleeting glimpse of the sun through the night, like hope both crushed and cherished. When did she start to care about her? Momoka never wants to see that look on her mother’s face again, she realizes. 

Mechanically, she turns back to the TV but no longer is she watching it. Her mother makes a small, desperately sound noise and gets off the couch to leave the room. The distant sound of her mother sobbing in the kitchen makes her flinch, fills her belly with shame and the desire ( _ need _ ) to wash the woman’s pain away.

_ I forgot _ , she thinks,  _ my promise. _

It’s a promise she made a long time ago, in the years of her old life that her relationship with her family went to shit. Not to anyone but herself. A reminder of how much it hurt to be treated poorly, a warning to herself to never treat others similarly.  _ Be kind, always. _

Be kind to her mother, yes, that was important. 

But also to be kind to herself.

_ It’s okay to move on. _ Momoka thinks to herself as the commercial break begins on the TV.  _ It’s okay to try again, to try to do better.  _

It doesn’t sink in for a while, and her actions don’t change overnight. When her mother comes back into the room, silent and withdrawn, Momoka doesn’t turn around at all. In fact, she barely acknowledges the woman aside from turning her head at the sound of her footsteps. 

That night she thinks about everyone she misses, and for once she doesn’t imagine their tears or their grief. She imagines them healing. Momoka thinks of her girlfriend, the girl she wanted to marry one day, and hopes that she finds someone who treats her the way she deserves, who laughs with her and holds her when she cries. When she falls asleep, Momoka dreams a tombstone that is cared for only occasionally because the people who visit have busy, happy lives away from it.

It takes her hours to work up the courage, filled with fear and trauma of a past relationship to another mother, but the next day she smiles widely at her mother. Continues, even when her mother holds still and her breath freezes. Continues even when her mother starts crying, a smile reflected back at her, a finger tracing her cheek.

_ I’m sorry _ , she wants to say.  _ Thank you for not giving up on me. I’ll do better now. _

It’s a promise only to herself. She has two, now.

_ Be kind, always. _

_ I’ll do better now. _

 

\---

 

Her first words are, “I love you, mama.” 

Or at least, they’re supposed to be.

They have been painstakingly practiced in the dead of night, or when her mother is preoccupied and she’s left in the prison that is a playpen, or in the bouncer, making too much noise for her whispers to be heard. She had waited for the right moment to say them, until she could understand Japanese with a fluency she had never thought possible. 

She is seven months old and her mother is holding her in the backyard. There’s a garden here that her mother likes to tend to, and they stand near enough that the smell of flowers wafts through the air easily. It’s a nice spring day, nice enough that her mother takes her out for walks to the park that last longer than fifteen minutes. She’s spent the last few months trying to not only heal from the grief and loss of rebirth but also making up for the past few months of horror she’s given her mom. 

(She’s still endlessly numb-empty cold, but hasn’t she always been? It’s more prominent now than it ever was before, easier for her depression to sink its claws in, easier for her anxiety to clog her throat and head, easier for the mood disorder to try and sweep her feet from under her. It’s more important than ever to remember her promises.)

It’s the perfect time, she thinks.

Of course she sneezes in the middle of it.

“I love- _ ACHOO! _ ” Momoka wrinkles her nose and sniffles. Dammit. 

Her mother is staring at her. “Bless you, Momo-chan,” she seems to say reflexively. 

“Thank you,” Momoka replies, because she’s nothing if not polite. It’s still odd to hear her own voice, high-pitched and childish- wait.

The mother-daughter duo stare at each other.

“Momo-chan,” her mother begins softly, “did you say something?”

Here’s her chance! Redo it! “Maybe.”  _ Fucking dammit! _ When was she going to actually do anything right? 

Her mother’s eyes begin to fill with tears, her bottom lip quivering. Oh no.

“I love you, mama!” Momoka screams, the words bursting from her lips and doing nothing to distract the woman from crying like Momoka had hoped. 

“Mama loves you, too, Momo-chan!” Her mother shouts, tears streaming down her face and dripping onto Momoka’s clothes.

She sniffles, and realizes she going to cry, too. Jeez.

“Mama is so happy,” sobs her mother. “Mama loves you so much, Momoka!”

And then the woman promptly tries to suffocate her. It’s a hug, Momoka reasons as she chokes. Done with love. It almost makes her feel warm.

“If only your Papa were here to listen to your first words!” Her mother laments. “But Papa is busy doing construction work around the world…”

_ My father _ , Momoka thinks, not for the first time in this life or the first,  _ is an asshole _ .

Her mother?  _ This _ mother, specifically? She’s the person Momoka cares most about in the world now. 

 

\---

 

She’s walking and talking at a level years above her only a couple more months later when she asks her mother to teach her to read and write. Her mother, agreeable and sweet, has never yet told her no. It makes Momoka worry for her, that she’s yet to see her mother disagree with anyone in any way. What if someone asked her to do something stupid, like step into traffic? It’s probably not going to happen, but  _ what if _ ?

Momoka doesn’t ask for a lot of things, anyways. The limitations of a child should chafe at her more, she’s always hated being tied down, but her mother is different from her parents before. She doesn’t try to control Momoka, doesn’t scream and yell when she does the slightest thing wrong, doesn’t belittle her. 

Momoka has control of her room and after she asks her mother to knock before she enters, the woman doesn’t scream and shout and refuse on the principle that Momoka is  _ her  _ daughter and doesn’t tell her what to do. If Momoka doesn’t want to be in a particular room, her mother doesn’t stop her from wandering the house, doesn’t follow her after the first few times and she saw that Momoka won’t actually kill herself by accident if left alone. Sure, she’s clumsy and trips a lot, but she doesn’t cry if she scrapes her knee, gets a bruise, or a cut. If it’s something that needs a bandage, she’ll go and ask for one.

It’s strange to feel so trusted by her mother. (She wonders where her mother’s breaking point is, and how far away she is from reaching it.)

That’s a problem for another time. Her current problem is that Japan has three written languages.

Hirigana is the easiest, then katakana, and then kanji. She picks up the first two in two months, practicing in a notebook that she also uses to keep her English and French usable, though she doubts she’ll ever forget English. It’s the kanji she struggles with, with how many of the characters there are. 

The first thing she learns to write is her own name, Sawada Momoka. The kanji that make up her name leave her a bit amused and exasperated; 沢田 for Sawada and  桃花 for Momoka.  The kanji 沢 could mean something swamp, or marsh, and the kanji 田 meant rice paddies. Knowing this, when Momoka wrote her name, she thought about the feeling of swamp water and mud between her toes, and it left a gross taste in the back of her throat. Meanwhile, her personal name gave off a much prettier vibe; the kanji  桃 for peach, and 花 for flower. Despite the gross taste Sawada left in her mouth - and of course it was her father’s name,  _ ugh _ \- she liked her full name. Contradictory, just like herself. 

The second thing she learns to write is her mother’s name, Sawada Nana. The kanji for her personal name were 奈々, which were easy enough; the kanji  奈 technically meant Nara, but her mother just used it as the phonetic ‘na,’ and the kanji 々 just signified the repetition. Nana had also forced her to learn her father’s name, Sawada Iemitsu, and the kanji for his personal name were 家光. The first meaning home and the second meaning light, and she thought he didn’t deserve to be the light of home. He was never home, and Momoka knew that it hurt her mother. She heard Nana’s calls to him, how Nana was the only one to really talk, how sometimes her father interrupted her to leave.

Momoka really hated her father.

 

\---

 

Momoka is two years old, almost three, gums aching from teeth that that push through in multiple places, when her mother decides that Momoka needs to get out of the house more. Nevermind that Momoka is a toddler who regularly gardens with Nana, climbs the tree in the backyard to peak at a bird’s nest, or plays with the neighbor’s chihuahua. No, Momoka knows what her mother wants her to do.

Socialize.

Nana had been taking her on more walks lately, specifically on routes that other parents in the neighborhood took their children. At first Momoka thought it was to show off to other parents that Nana’s daughter could walk on her own all the time without a stroller, but began to realize differently when Nana continuously pushed her towards other children. Usually other kids her age, none of whom she could really… hold a conversation with. All the older ones didn’t even want to talk to a perceived baby. The youngest child she’d talked to that wasn’t her age was at least eight.

Her mom didn’t care that Momoka knew too many things she shouldn’t. Hell, Momoka thought her mother didn’t even notice; Nana was very ditzy, though emotional, and Momoka was her first and only child. Clearly she hadn’t interacted with enough children to know that Momoka shouldn’t pat her on the back with empathy when the utilities and mortgage bills came. It wasn’t really her fault, either, Momoka knew. After all, Momoka made no attempts to really pretend to be a baby aside from silently acknowledging the fact that she really was one, physically. 

So Nana clearly decides to take it up a notch and implements a twice-a-week ritual of going to the park on Tuesdays and Fridays. The park, now that she’s free to roam, is a chaotic mess of children running around screaming, having the times of their lives, and Momoka feels incredibly out of place. 

When was the last time she’d gone to a park? During the day, and not to smoke weed? (She didn’t really count the times she was constrained to a stroller or her mother’s hand.)

It’s dumb to feel afraid, she’s a goddamn adult, but she’s also super small now and knows better than most how mean kids can be. She glances back at her mother, who’s sitting on a nearby bench with some mothers who watch their interactions with amusement. Nana smiles wide, gives her a thumbs up, and then a shooing motion. Momoka swallows.

The park is made up of a very large, grassy clearing, with a playground and monkey bars and a big slide. There’s a big sandbox, too, and swings. All the swings are taken, and the playground is just… No. She’d get knocked down faster than Dwayne Johnson could twitch a peck. She’d go around the clearing itself, pet the dogs that are walking with their owners, but she knows her mother would be disappointed.

Sandbox it is.

She goes to the first kid there - and quickly beelines for the next when the boy with dark hair and dark eyes lifts his head to glare at her, hands raising protectively around his sandcastle. Nope! The second is also a boy, but his black hair is spiky and messy, and he’s focused on the rather large hole he’s digging.

“Hey,” Momoka interrupts, and then says it again when he doesn’t budge. He lifts a head to look at her with irritated confusion. “What are you doing?”

He seems to contemplate actually telling her or not, doesn’t even bother saying something about how rude she was. Kids, after all, don’t give a fuck whether or not you introduce yourself or have manners. 

“Digging to Australia.” The boy says, dark brown eyes narrowing at her as he frowns.

For a moment, Momoka doesn’t - can’t - say anything. The boy had said it completely seriously, as though he was explaining the fact that he was, indeed, holding a plastic, tiny shovel in his hand. Momoka is stupefied before remembering that you actually have to be old enough to go to school to learn about the planet and its layers. She can’t really tell how old she is, and she doesn’t actually know what age kids go to school here, but she can guess that he’s around her age now.

“ _ O _ kay,” she drawls. 

They stare at each other for a few more moments, silent. The boy goes back to digging, as though he’s decided she’s no longer interesting. Momoka looks over her shoulder. Nana is still watching. With a sigh, Momoka plops down in the sand across from the boy and starts dragging more sand out of the hole he’s dug. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, pointing the shovel at her and scowling.

“Helping.” Momoka says simply. Wait, shit, should she have asked? His face is getting incredibly red, Momoka thinks she probably should have asked. 

The boy’s mouth opens and closes a few times as his face turns into a tomato. “Wha- no- I- YOU’RE A GIRL!” 

The shout rings through her ears and causes more than a few people to look over. Momoka doesn’t like being watched, and shifts on the sand. She’s not going to explain the gender binary him, not today when she’s already stressed. Plus, how could he have known whether or not she wasn’t a girl? (Not considering that fact that he’s right.) She presents femininely, wearing blue shorts and a pink tee, her shoulder-length, dark-brown hair held back in a red scrunchy.

“So?” Momoka asks instead.

The boy continues yelling. “GIRLS ARE STUPID AND HAVE COOTIES! I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!”

_ Can’t say I didn’t try, mama, _ Momoka thinks to herself, getting ready to apologize and leave.

Before she can even open her mouth, though, the other boy in the sandbox stands up dramatically. He’s about as big as the boy Momoka is talking to, the sudden movement drawing both their eyes, and his eyes are so dark she thinks he must either have black irises or none at all. Both she and the Digging Boy stare at him as he turns to look at them, lips raised in a snarl.

Momoka has one moment to think  _ holy shit is this really how I die this time?  _ before the child throws himself at Digging Boy and her. It’s less of a fight and more of a beating, both she and Digging Boy cowering before the might of this demon child who doesn’t actually say anything as he strikes out at them. It’s only a minute or two before parents swoop in but it’s long enough for her to get a tiny fist to the face and for Digging Boy to get an elbow to the throat.

She blinks and suddenly Nana is there, sweeping her into her arms and patting her down desperately. 

The demon is still howling, held back by a harried looking teenager who identifies herself as the kid’s nanny. 

There are tears in her eyes, less from the pain and more from the suddenness of it. “I’m alright, mama.”

Nana sighes, leaning forward to set her down and hug her simultaneously. “Okay, Momo-chan, if you say so.”

Digging Boy’s parent, a man in a cheap suit that doesn’t quite fit right, is also fussing. Huh, Digging Boy was a lot taller than he’d seemed sitting down. Digging Boy was crying very silently, looking mad as hell and trying to rub his tears away as well as the blooming bruise on his throat. Momoka reached up and touched the skin under her left eye and hissed at the tender feeling. Great.

“I am  _ so _ sorry,” the teenager says very fast. “I should have been watching him more carefully. Kyouya-kun, apologize to the other kids.” Demon child, now identified as Kyouya, crosses his arms and looks away. “ _ Kyouya-kun. Now. _ ”

He deigns to look at them for a moment, before turning cheek again. “Don’t crowd,  _ herbivores. _ ”

The teenager lets out a frustrated sound and scoops the kid up from under his armpits. “Alright, mister, you’re going home and your dad is  _ so _ grounding you.”

The sight of the demon child dangling by his pits is a funny one, but it also means Momoka has the respect for the teenager who does it because the kid is a resourceful fucker who swings his legs back and tries to nail her in the tit. She’s unphased, though, rushing away to grab an abandoned bag and away from the park. 

“Alright,” Digging Boy’s father said slowly. “I think it’s time we head home.”

And with that, he takes Digging Boy’s hand and drags him away, leaving Momoka and her mother to watch them walk away. When Nana starts giggling, Momoka looks up incredulously. 

Nana sees the look on her face and smiles. “Mama’s happy you’re making friends, Momo-chan!”

Momoka wonders how her mother’s brain works, and if she’s an alien, for all of five seconds before rolling her eyes. “Can we go home, mama? I’m tired of socializing today.”

Her mother nods agreeably, and the two walk back to get her purse before setting off down the street to go home.

Momoka is sure that’s the last of it, that her mother must have seen reason and won’t force her to interact with other kids again. Unfortunately, she’s wrong. That following Friday, Nana takes her once more to park. Momoka is sure she could refuse, say no, throw a tantrum - but she likes the way her mother smiles when Momoka at least pretends to interact with other kids, so she doesn’t argue.

(She  _ does _ peer around for a solid minute or two, watching for the demon child. He’s not there, presumably grounded for life.)

Digging Boy isn’t there, and there are some kids in the sandbox, but she simply finds herself a corner and contents herself to practicing her writing in the sand. This keeps her busy for almost half an hour before a shadow looms over her. Momoka looks up.

_ Spoke too soon _ , she thinks, staring up at Digging Boy.  _ Wow he looks mad _ .

“What are you doing?” He demands. Momoka doesn’t hold it against him that he’s rude.

“Practicing my kanji,” she tells him honestly. “What, you gonna beat me up for crowding?” 

Both of their bruises stand out of their skin. He reaches up reflexively to his throat, taken aback for a moment.

“No,” he mutters, and continues to stand there. After a few moments of silence, he looks away, cheeks flushing red.

Momoka looks to where her mother is, again, watching. She looks to be staring in rapt attention, hands interlaced in front of her mouth as she leans forward, elbows on her knees. Like Momoka’s interactions with children are some juicy soap opera or j-drama. Great.

“Do you want to practice with me?” Momoka asks before she can help it. 

Digging Boy crosses his arms. “I guess… I’m Mochida Kensuke.”

“Sawada Momoka,” she tells him in kind. “You can call me Momoka.”

It’s still weird whenever someone calls her Sawada-chan, or even whenever her mother adds a suffix to her name. It might not be polite or mannerly, but Momoka would honestly just rather be referred to as herself, though she’s polite enough to not assume the same of others. Mochida’s blush only strengthens as he sits, probably embarrassed. 

“Or,” she sighs, “You can call me Momoka-san. I guess.”

Mochida releases a breath of relief. “You can call me Kensuke-san.”

She nods, though she knows she’ll only do it outloud. She and Kensuke spend exactly one hour more practicing kanji in the sand, teaching each other new words, before he finally got bored and demanded they dig to Australia. Momoka indulged him and helped dig until they hit the bottom of the sandbox and started hitting dirt. 

“It’s time for me to go home,” she lied, feeling drained from interacting with him for so long. “Later.”

“Bye,” he said, still focused on digging. Momoka shrugged.

Her mother wouldn’t stop giggling the entire walk home.

 

\---

 

Kensuke and Momoka’s friendship was a wavy thing. Some days, Kensuke didn’t even show up to the park, others he was there regularly for at least a week or two. Sometimes he was a sexist little shithead of a five year old, others he was perfectly willing to play with a girl two years younger than him. Momoka didn’t try to understand him, just let him be when he didn’t want to have anything to do with her, and played with him quietly when he did. Throughout it all, though, he was loud. More than once she had to redirect him from other kids that he thoughtlessly offended. She felt less like a frenemy and more like a clean up crew.

She only found out how old he was when he turned six and he in turn. It caused a few days of awkward avoidance on his part, weirded out by how lame he appeared to himself, before sitting on the swings next to her with a muttered apology.

“You’re fine, Kensuke-san,” she assured him. “I won’t force you to be my friend.”

When Kensuke started school the following month, he wasn’t there for a month and a half at the park. Probably because her mother only took her during the early afternoon, when class was still in session. Momoka’s days became much more boring now that she wasn’t preoccupied with thinking up things to do with him at the park - and until now, she hadn’t even realized that’s what she had been doing!

Momoka spent three days in an existential crisis her mother found amusing for the way she lay on the living room floor like a starfish. Was being in a child’s body regressing her mentally? She could still remember all her education, remembers graduating and getting okay grades. She can still do most of the math she’d learned in high school, aside from fucking geometry. Her fluency in english hasn’t changed, her french has actually improved from all the practice she keeps. (Her mother really has never interacted with children before her, because the woman sees no problem paying for extra channels on the TV to accommodate Momoka’s desire for media in her languages.) 

Hell, though, when was the last time she did anything really for herself?

Most of her days were spent helping her mother around the house or running around a park to get her energy out. Her room was pretty baren, a single child’s bed and a closet full of clothes her mother picked out, toys she didn’t really play with, books she’d already read three times over. The only other thing she did was play with Kensuke.

_ I really need a life _ , she thinks to herself despondently, staring at the ceiling fan.  _ But this  _ is _ the life of a three year old. Boring.  _

“Mama?” she calls, knowing her mom is nearby.

“Yes, Momo-chan?” her mother answers far too quickly to have been anywhere but hiding in the kitchen and watching her from the doorway.

“Can I get my ears pierced?” 

Of course, her mother agrees like she always does and soon enough they’ve gone to the mall. Claire’s is still the number one place for people to get their ears pierced cheaply and not even a half hour after she suggested the idea does she have her ears pierced. It was actually more pricey than she’d expected because her mother instantly went for the diamond starters with the gold base and backing. 

Now that Momoka thought about it, Nana never seemed as worried as she was about the bills, despite how Momoka hid her worries. 

Was her new family loaded?

Momoka tested the waters. “Mama, can I have a gameboy?”

Nana actually considered it - humming under her breath, which was more thought than usual she gave to requests. “Alright, Momo-chan! What games do you want?”

_ Huh _ , Momoka thought as she shrugged and let Nana guide her to the nearest video game store in the mall, her ears throbbing a bit.  _ I’m fucking rich. _

What a strange feeling. Was this what people called financial security? It kinda felt like she was high on a sativa strain but also like she ate something spoiled and her stomach was protesting violently.

She ended up with a Cardcaptor Sakura themed one that cost more than her earrings but was perhaps the cutest thing she’d ever owned in her life as well as Pokemon Crystal. She contents herself with becoming a Pokemon master as a life and calls it a day.

They still go to the park, but Momoka makes sure to leave her gameboy at home, afraid that some kid might snatch it from her hands. Kensuke shows up again towards June, looking sheepish, and apologized for not asking either of his parents to go to the park again. 

“That’s alright,” she placates, patting him on the shoulder. They’re sitting on the top of the monkey bars, Kensuke pushing any child who dares encroach on their space off it. She’s given up trying to wrangle him, because then he just pushes  _ her.  _ The silence is awkward for a few moments. “I got my ears pierced.”

Kensuke blinks, apparently just noticing. He stares intently at her ears for a moment. “They’re nice. Would it hurt to rip them out?”

Momoka’s hands fly to cover her earlobes, a betrayed look on her face. “Why the fuck would you ask that?”

“MOMOKA-SAN SAID A SWEAR WORD!” Kensuke shouts toward her mother with a grin, the fucker. Momoka shoves him off the monkey bars and laughs when he tumbles. “I’M GONNA GET YOU, MOMOKA-SAN!”

A grin creeps onto her face as she races around the playground with a six year old boy on her heels screaming in frustration. This friend thing was pretty cool, no wonder her past mom had said she was extroverted when she was little. Too bad she’d started to get bullied real fast back then, having a friend like Kensuke would’ve been nice.

 

\---

 

When she turns four, her mother throws her a party. The only people who show up are her mother, Kensuke, and Kensuke’s parents. It’s a pretty sad party, in comparison to the humongous get-togethers her old family had used any excuse to have, not that her past parents had enjoyed them enough to go regularly. It was still the best party she’d ever been to, though. Her mom got her some new earrings, a pair with bright pink tassles on them and ones shaped like lions. Kensuke - or maybe his parents - got Momoka some magical girl manga. She appreciated it, knowing he’d only seen her gameboy a few times, so he must have a good memory.

Her mother is a bit sad that her father didn’t show up, despite the fact that Momoka remembers hearing her tell him over the phone and hearing his agreement to come. Momoka makes up for her father’s general shitty-ness by being overly needy with her mother, hugging her randomly and even asking to be carried, a rarity. Her mother thrives on the attention and it makes Momoka happy to see her smile.

Kensuke and she have a sleep over that night, and they spend it watching scary movies in the living room and eating copious amounts of leftover cake.

 

\---

 

Kensuke turns seven the following March, before his second year of elementary starts. His party is thrown at the local Namimori Arcade and his entire class is there, along with a bunch of other kids. Momoka pauses when she enters, eyes darting between kids wearing party hats running around and their long-suffering parents in the dining area. There’s a table set up for presents next to the table for cake and regular food. 

Nana steps in behind her, bumping into Momoka, who moves forward instinctively. She clutches the present, wrapped in Power Ranger wrapping and containing a children’s book on swords, Kensuke’s most recent obsession and his longest lasting one, and goes to put it with all the giant presents. Her’s is the smallest and looking at it amongst the larger gifts she wants to shrivel up and die.

_ You’re a grown woman, dammit _ , she tries to remind herself.  _ Don’t let brats with bigger wallets than their brains get you down! He’ll love the gift! _

Still, she hasn’t seen Kensuke anywhere, though she and her mother go to greet his parents. They tell her that he’s at a whack-a-mole game somewhere, trying to win tickets, which doesn’t surprise her. The most violent game is always Kensuke’s favorite.

She does find him at the whack-a-mole, but he’s not alone. He’s surrounded by a gaggle of other kids, the loudest of which is a boy with white hair who keeps shouting the word extreme. Momoka bites the inside of her cheek as she slowly approaches, sliding between the bigger kids up to Kensuke, who notices her instantly.

“Happy birthday, Kensuke-san!” She tells him cheerfully, with a smile. 

He smiles slightly, eyes squinting. “Thanks, Mo-”

“Ken,” says one of the other kids, a boy with reddish brown hair. “Who’s the baby?”

Kensuke flinches, hard. “Uh…”

Momoka glances around, and realizes that this kid isn’t the only one who looks irritated or confused. Quite a few of them do, though some don’t seem to give a fuck. 

“I…” Momoka starts before her throat closes up around the words, and she mentally kicks herself and damns her anxiety. “I’m Sawada Momoka! Nice to meet you, please call me Momoka!”

She even gives a little bow, which is more than she normally does, because she’s really not used to bowing. Kensuke must notice, too, because he looks surprised. Momoka doesn’t know what to tell him, especially not in front of everyone. How dumb would it be to say that she wants to make a good impression on his older friends?

“Phhht,” the boy from before sputters, holding his gut as he begins to laugh. “Ken, is she your  _ girlfriend _ ?”

Momoka furrows her brow before realizing that these kids are still at the girls-are-gross stage, but aware of what girlfriends and boyfriends are. She’s about to open her mouth and politely correct him when Kensuke steps forward as though he’s tripping over his own feet. He’s entirely red, eyes wide. He kind of looks mad and she wonders how hard he’s going to punch this kid. It would suck to get in trouble on his own birthday.

Kensuke proves her wrong. “NO! Why would I date a  _ stupid baby _ ? I don’t even know her!”

The words shouldn’t hurt her. She’s a grown woman. These are a bunch of seven and eight year olds. But Momoka hasn’t had practice with betrayal in ages, the kind that comes from the people she loves the most. Complacent, she thinks, is what she’s become as a lump rises in her throat. She tries to remember her promises.

_ Be kind, always. _

_ I’ll do better now. _

“Kensuke-san,” she starts, looking at him in confusion, before suddenly she’s shoved to the ground. She stares up at the arcade lights and blinks fast, a thin film of tears making her vision blurry but she breathes deep and even, doesn’t let them fall.

“Go  _ AWAY _ !” Kensuke shouts at her, the group of kids around him laughing.

She doesn’t look at him as she gets up and walks away, keeping her breathing deep and even, her feet only stumbling every three steps. Momoka holds her composure, unwilling to cry in the face of childish bullying like that. Her mother is still talking to Kensuke’s parents, but is willing enough to crouch down to her level when Momoka silently tugs on her pant leg.

“Momo-chan?” her mother asks over the arcade music. She looks concerned. Nana always did seem sensitive to when she was sad, ever since her months of grieving. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to go home,” Momoka tells her. Her lip quivers as she speaks and she pinches her mouth shut quickly, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to distract herself from her feelings. 

“But Kensuke-chan’s birthday party-”

“Home, mama.” Momoka repeats, lip still trying to quiver. “Please?”

Not once has she ever had a reason to say please to her mother when requesting something. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s something else, but her mother instantly agrees and scoops her up in her arms to hold her to her chest. Momoka knows the other kids probably see this, word will spread that the  _ stupid baby _ ran to her mom, but she doesn’t care because she’s got her face buried in her mom’s shoulder, tears finally spilling out though she doesn’t make a sound aside from sniffles.

“I’m so sorry, Shizue-san, Sozui-san,” she hears Nana say to Kensuke’s mother and father. “I’m not sure what happened…”

Shizue has good motherly instincts, though, and waves the apology away. “It’s fine, it’s fine - go make Momoka-chan is alright.”

Momoka feels Nana nod. “Thanks, Shizue-san. Tell Kensuke-chan we said happy birthday.”

Momoka’s fingers tighten in the fabric of Nana’s shirt. 

_ Kids are mean _ , she thinks, rather redundantly as she cries softly on the walk home. 

Her mother will get the story out of her another day, but not tonight. For now, Momoka races up to her room to take a nap, her child body tuckered out from emotional upheaval while her mind oscillates between the knowledge that Kensuke is a kid and probably didn’t mean what he said, and the fear that things will never change, even a life away. That she’s destined to have a shitty childhood.

 

\---

 

She doesn’t tell her mom what happened until three days later. Momoka reasons out loud to her mom that Kensuke hurt her with both his words and actions, but that she understands he wants to look cool to the boys his age, that he probably wants more friends than a girl two years younger than him, but that the reasoning behind his actions and words doesn’t change how they affected her. That it hurts that her only friend would be so mean. She expresses her own frustration at herself for feeling so hurt, but also reasons out loud that it’s natural to feel hurt when someone acts carelessly. Nana barely has to say anything before Momoka has come up with the conclusion that if Kensuke apologizes and promises not to be so mean again, she’ll forgive him instantly.

(She’ll never know it but Nana is incredibly proud of her oh-so-mature daughter, too big for her britches.)

The next day the Mochida’s show up at their front door, and Momoka turns to glare at her too-happy mother. Nana takes the parents to the living room and shoves Kensuke and her outside into the backyard. They stand in the yard, staring at each other, for a few long, excruciating minutes.

“Did you like your gift?” Momoka eventually asks, softly and fists clenched.

Kensuke nods so fast she wonders if he’s turned into a bobblehead. “Yeah! It was the best one! I’m not done reading it, but it’s super cool! I, ah…” he trails off, enthusiasm dwindling. “I liked it. Thank you for the gift, Momoka-san.”

Momoka gives him a half smile. “No problem, Kensuke-san. I’m glad you liked it.”

They stand there for a few minutes longer.

“I’M SORRY!” Kensuke shouted, fists clenched just like her’s and eyes squeezed shut as he bows. “Tatsuzo is the coolest kid in class but he’s also a jerk! You’re my best friend! I shouldn’t have said those mean things or shoved you! Please don’t hate me!”  
It’s the most sincere apology Momoka has ever seen a kid give. She has no doubt Kensuke really means what he says, and it almost makes the empty-numb cold warm for a few moments. She reaches forward and lifts his shoulders up, smiling. Kensuke opens his eyes, which are filled with tears, and she sees hope in them.

“I forgive you,” she tells him. “You’re my best friend, too.”

And with that, she hugs him. He’s awkward and pointy but he hugs back tightly.

After that, he asks her about the chihuahua barking through the fence and she laughs.

 

\---

 

Her father turns up for her fifth birthday, surprisingly, and brings along his boss, too. The party is small, again, with her mother, Kensuke, and Kensuke’s parents. Iemitsu and his boss show up late, as they’re eating cake, and at first Momoka wonders who would be opening their front door at this moment, especially when she knows her mother likes it best when people ring the doorbell first.

“Nana!” a man’s voice shouted from the hall. “I’m home!”

The occupants of the kitchen freeze as Nana squeals in delight, throwing herself out of her seat and into the arms of a tall man with blonde hair and slightly european features. He laughs and dips her down to give her a kiss, letting her up after a moment as she giggles. 

_ This must be my deadbeat _ , Momoka sighs to herself. Well, it’s only one birthday potentially ruined.

She sees the way his eyes widen at the sight of a birthday cake and presents and realizes he didn’t even remember it was her birthday. How… nice.

Unfortunately that’s when his eyes lock onto hers and a grin spreads on his face.

“My little peach!” he shouts, rushing forward to grasp her by her middle and toss her into the air. 

_ I’m going to die _ , she thinks as she bangs into the ceiling and drops hard and fast, bringing her arms forward to protect her face. Her father catches her barely, and by the ankles, so she jerks painfully in his grip. From her position she can see the upside-down (or right-side-up?) faces of Kensuke and his parents, who look about as shocked and confused as she feels.

“Darling,” her mother says, “Who’s this?”

Iemitsu flips her up and places her on her feet to turn towards Nana. Momoka sways on her feet, cake she’d just eaten trying to rise in her throat before she shoves it down. Wobbles back to her chair next to Kensuke and climbs on, gripping the seat tightly in case the man tries for a repeat performance.

“Is that your dad?” Kensuke asks, glancing over his shoulder at the trio.

“Unfortunately,” Momoka says, and doesn’t catch the glance Kensuke’s parents share. “Dunno who the old guy is.”

He’s her father’s boss, she learns, from Italy. Timoteo di Vongola, or Grandfather as he said to call him.  _ Grandfather _ . Momoka was leery of trusting the guy her dad worked for, but maybe he would actually be nice. She decided to reserve her judgment and called him Gramps.

The party continued, despite the interruption. Shizue and Sozui were very polite around Iemitsu and Timoteo, seemingly unsure of how to act. Momoka knew that a lot of people thought her mother was a widow from how people interacted with her, and wondered how the knowledge that her father was just never home would go over. 

When they opened gifts - Nana getting her more earrings and a book about flowers, Kensuke and his parents giving her more magical girl manga as well as a pretty bracelet made from delicate gold chains - Iemitsu had looked pained and patted his pockets quickly. He fished out a couple of yen notes that Momoka’s eyes snapped to. 

What can she say, old habits die hard, and she’ll always have the mind of a woman trying to stay above the poverty line. It’s almost 22,000 yen, which her mind converts without much prompting. Around $20. Cool, she can go buy a fuck ton of lollipops. Maybe some other stuff, too, now that she thinks about it. 

_ Save it _ , she reminds herself.  _ You never know. _

She thanks her father politely, slipping the cash into the breast pocket of her overall-shorts. 

However, it’s a surprise when Timoteo hands over some yen notes as well, a sheepish look on his face.

“Had I known it was your birthday,” he says conspiratorially with a wink, patting her hand as she takes the equivalent of another $20 from him, “I’d have bought you a gift.”

“Thank you very much,” she says, unable to say much else.

After that, the adults release Kensuke and she to the backyard, where they dare each other to climb as high as they can in the tree. In hindsight, not her greatest idea seeing as how she trips over thin air a lot. Momoka is thankful she wasn’t very high up, unlike Kensuke, when she slipped.

It was still going to hurt. 

And it did. Slamming into the ground and practically bouncing with the effort, she hears her father’s shout and running footsteps.

Momoka rolls over and wiggles her toes and fingers individually. No spinal injury. She takes a deep breath, and feels no pain. Ribs are fine. Her nose aches, though, and when she reaches up to touch it it’s sore and her fingers come away bloody. There’s a few minor cuts and bruises but nothing that won’t heal.

“Momo-chan, are you alright?” her father fusses, lifting her off the ground carelessly. “Did that boy push you?”

“WHAT?” Kensuke shouts, already at the bottom of the tree again. “I was at the top of the tree! How could I have?”

Her father opened his mouth and Momoka wondered at his maturity level if he was about to argue with a child. At least she had an excuse. 

“He didn’t push me,” Momoka said, hitting her father lightly on the arm. “I slipped. I’m fine. Nothing’s even broken!” She always did have the best of luck like that, until the day she’d died.

“Iemitsu, is everything alright?” Timoteo asks as he wanders up. “Oh, Momoka-chan, you’re all scraped up.”

“I fell out of the tree,” Momoka told him, tasting blood as it ran over her upper lip. “I think I have a bloody nose, but that’s about it. I’m gonna need a tissue.”

“I’ll get it!” her father volunteers, practically dropping her as he rushes to set her down and simultaneously disappear into the house. 

Kensuke moves closer, grabbing her hand. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Momoka smiles at him and squeezes his hand. “Yup! I can move all my fingers and toes, my head doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t hurt to breathe. I’m perfectly fine.”

She’d forgotten Timoteo until he laughs, deep and from his belly. He looks a lot younger, she thinks, when he smiles like that. 

“I’ve heard that before,” he chuckles, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I have four sons, the youngest is only a bit older than you both. They’re always finding some way to get hurt.”

Momoka decides that she likes Timoteo, and smiles. “You should bring them next time you visit! I’d love to meet my Uncles.”

It’s a bit presumptuous of her, sure. Perhaps Timoteo’s sons won’t give a shit about her. Perhaps Timoteo doesn’t want them to meet some random kid of his employee’s. And besides, she knows the sight of her is a bit odd, face bloody and smiling. Yet, Timoteo doesn’t look phased at all. Even Kensuke groans, but Timoteo just smiles. 

“I think they’d love to meet you, too, Momoka-chan,” Timoteo says.

It’s then that her father bursts out of the house with a first aid kit larger than her entire body. Momoka can only stare, even as Kensuke drops her hand to wander away, muttering about how they’re all crazy.

In the end, Timoteo leaves to head back to Italy - he must be hella rich if he can afford a trip to Japan for only a few hours - and her father refuses to let Kensuke spend the night on the account that he’s a boy. It makes not only Momoka twitch, but Kensuke and Kensuke’s parents. Shizue and Sozui are incredibly aware of their son, and if they didn’t trust him they wouldn’t have even agreed in the first place. To have someone mistrust their son like that must be a big insult, because Momoka knows it’s an insult to her own ability to not only choose good friends but also to be able to protect herself. 

Like, in a fair fight, she probably wouldn’t win against Kensuke. But what her father is imagining is not only age inappropriate for them but also? If someone would try to assault her, Momoka would do everything in her power to stop it, up to and including killing the person who dared touch her. (How she would do that, she’s unsure of. Mostly she thinks she would claw their eyes out and stomp on their crotch. Maybe she should start taking self defense lessons…)

That night she tries to stay up and watch horror movies, as per her birthday ritual, but her father claimed the movies were too scary for his little peach flower. And then he put a movie for kids even younger than she was. And then he started drinking. And then he left beer bottles full and unattended. By that point, Momoka got up and left the room, her father too drunk to notice.

Her mother is still awake, making Iemitsu drunk food. Momoka goes into the kitchen and hugs her from behind, making Nana laugh and pat her head.

“Are you tired, Momo-chan?” her mother asks, and it’s times like this she appreciates her physical age, because her mom can still pick her up and carry her up the stairs. 

Which she does, and ask they pass by her father she murmurs, “I don’t think Papa really knows how to interact with kids.”

Her mother pats her back. “He just needs practice, Momo-chan, he’ll get better.”

“If you say so, Mama,” she says agreeably as Nana places her in her bed and pulls the floral comforter up to her chin. “Good night, mama. I love you.”

Nana smiles as she leans down to kiss Momoka’s forehead. “And I love you, Momo-chan. Happy birthday.”

 

\---

 

Her father stays for two weeks, every day of which is spent either dragging Nana and Momoka out of the house to do expensive things like visit amusement parks and go on shopping sprees, or in a drunken stupor in his underwear on the couch, surrounded by a mixture of full and empty beer cans. When he’s drunk, Iemitsu gets even louder than he usually is until he falls asleep on the couch and is eventually woken to go to bed by Nana. He mixes up his languages, and Momoka had no clue he spoke anything other than Japanese and Italian. It makes sense, though, if he travels the world.

She just wasn’t expecting to hear someone singing Coldplay in the living room. 

“I’m reading,” she says from the kitchen doorway, the room she’d taken refuge in when he started drinking. “Will you tone it down?”

He doesn’t.

She makes the mistake of inviting Kensuke over after his classes only once. They walk inside and the smell of alcohol instantly hits her nose, and Kensuke makes a face. Momoka kind of wishes she had a drink herself, preferably a couple dozen shots of Malibu. 

“Nevermind,” she says, grabbing his hand as she hears her father’s drunken laugh and her mother moving around in the kitchen. “Let’s go to the park.”

Kensuke doesn’t argue, doesn’t say anything at all. He lets her tug him down the street and to the park they’d first met, even though the sun is starting to set. They climb on top of the monkey bars and watch the sun bleed over the horizon. 

“Your dad…” Kensuke begins, and pauses, like he’s unsure.

“He’s a drunkard who doesn’t deserve my mother,” she spits out venomously. “He’s sexist and has no filter and leaves alcohol out for anyone to grab. If I were any dumber I’d have thought it was shitty juice and tried to take a drink. What my mother sees in him, I don’t know.”

The words had come fast and hard from an ugly place inside her chest that she doesn’t like to think about. Kensuke makes an agreeing grunt, nodding. He probably didn’t want to be the one to say it.

_ Be kind, always. _

_ I’ll do better now. _

Momoka clenches her jaw. “But he supports us, and he makes Mama happy, so… I’ll just have to deal with it.”

Kensuke throws an arm around her shoulder, looking away and cheeks red just like they always are when he shows physical affection. “We can share my dad.”

Momoka smiles, touched. “Thanks, Kensuke-san.”

“You can call me Ken,” he mutters as night slowly takes over the sky.

Her smile stretches wider, and she leans her head against his shoulder. “You can call me Momo, then.”

\---

The first week of December, Kensuke comes over to her house after school with a black eye. The sight of it makes her gasp and grab his hand to drag him to the kitchen for an ice pack. Her mother, who had been sitting in the living room reading, heard the commotion and came to investigate.

“Kensuke-chan!” Nana exclaimed as Momoka dragged a chair to the fridge so she could climb up and reach the freezer. “What on earth happened to you?”

“Remember that creep from when we first met?” he said, more to Momoka than her mother.

Momoka paused for a moment to remember as she grabbed an ice pack. “The demon child. Kyouya.”

Kensuke nods and sits down as she places the ice pack, wrapped in a paper towel, over his ice. He flinches at first but forces himself still. “Hibari Kyouya, he just transfered into my class. Everyone says he had a private tutor before, but killed him. I believe it.”

“Is he the one who hurt you?” her mother asks, looking vaguely horrified. It’s more of a reaction most things get out of her. Kensuke nods.

“Did you punch him back?” Momoka asks, because fair is fair.

“Momo-chan!” “Yup.”

Momoka laughs. “Why did he punch you anyways?”

“He was punching everyone, even the teacher,” Kensuke tells her. “Called us all herbivores. I think he’s a yakuza heir.”

“Scary,” Momoka commented, and honestly. Reincarnation? Yakuza heirs beating people up in her best friend’s class isn’t passed her measurements of crazy shit. “Maybe we should befriend him.”

“WHAT?” Kensuke shouts, even as her mother laughs at her words.

“What?” Momoka asks defensively. “Being friends with a yakuza heir could totally be a benefit. Like if we ever go to jail.”

“Why would we go to jail, Momo?” Kensuke demanded, his visible eye wide and tone incredulous. 

“I dunno,” Momoka shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“Language,” her mother says instantly, swatting at her. “Now, Kensuke-chan, maybe Momo-chan is right. Maybe Hibari-kun just wants some friends.”

Kensuke shook his head. “Nope, no way. He threw scissors at Sato Kimi when she went to welcome him to the class.”

Momoka shrugged. “You told me I had cooties.”

“That’s not the same!” Kensuke ran a hand down his face, groaning. “You’re both crazy. There’s no way in he-heck that I am befriending that creep.”

Momoka shrugged, but was honestly a little disappointed. Her new life was so boring sometimes. Befriending a yakuza heir would really spice things up. Oh well, she still has to talk to her mother about self-defense lessons.

“You’re crazy, Momo,” Kensuke mumbles, taking the ice pack to hold it himself.

\---

Things start to speed up in her life after that, because her mother  _ does _ agree to get her trained, but the only dojo in town is a boxing dojo. So that’s where she goes, she learns during the day practically by herself with the sensei and a few other adults and kids, and when classes get out, Sasagawa-sensei’s son Ryohei comes home to train and practice with the other kids, too. When she had first seen her teacher’s son, she’d recognized him but simply hoped the other wouldn’t remember her. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

“You’re Mochida’s EXTREME friend!” the boy practically boomed. It was like there was a microphone in his throat.

She nods, flexing her feeble fingers in her hand wraps. His look much more intimidating. 

“Would you like to EXTREMELY spar?”

“I, uh, haven’t been learning very long, uh, senpai…” that’s all she can even think to call him, and she hates suffixes and titles.

“How else will you EXTREMELY learn?” Ryohei shouts. Does he need to include the word extreme in every sentence? 

Sparring with Ryohei is a lot like getting beaten to a pulp and then getting back up to try again. Or maybe like getting kicked in the head by a horse. It’s hard to not use the rest of her body, to try and elbow him in the face or knee him in the gut when she  _ knows _ she could,  _ knows _ it would work. Sasagawa-sensei notices, too. He pulls her aside after the second week she’s gotten beaten to a pulp and helps her put bruise cream on.

According to him, she was more suited to Muay Thai, which was similar to boxing but was full-contact and very brutal. It was a shock, he said, because she was such a cute and sweet girl. But that, if she wanted and her mother agreed, he could start training her in Muay Thai, on the condition that it would be modified for her age.

Which, well. 

Momoka researched it by stopping at the library on the way home.

Brutal was an understatement. And oh yeah, it had  _ better _ be modified for her age, she wasn’t looking to lose any brain cells! But damn was she down for it. (She specifically didn’t tell her mother how brutal this “specialized boxing” was. Just in case. Nana was usually good about these things, but old habits…)

Sasagawa-sensei started her on conditioning before anything. It would be a long while before anything else, especially considering she needed to build up muscle mass for it, and the whole shin training thing hurt a bunch. She went home sore and bruised, usually more so after a spar with Ryohei, but happy.

Kensuke thought she was crazy, but what else was new?

 

\---

 

Her first year of elementary school starts the following April, technically a year before it should. Having an October birthday would have put her in the grade below, but she’d begged her mother to be placed in it, otherwise she and Kensuke would never be in the same school after Elementary. 

So now, Kensuke shows up at her house with his parents before school and she joins them, waving goodbye to her mother. Nana had only come with them on the walk the first day, after which she deemed Momoka good enough to walk with them alone. Perhaps not the smartest parenting choice, if she was reading the exasperated looks on Shizue and Sozui’s faces right, but one she appreciated. Her mother’s parenting abilities work well with her need for non-conditional freedom. 

Her class was alright, the only person she really recognized being Ryohei’s younger sister, Kyoko, who stopped by the dojo sometimes with her brother. The other girl was very sweet, though they hardly interacted, and already seemed to have a best friend. Kurokawa Hana was the complete opposite of Kyoko, who was sunshine incarnate; Hana was cool-headed and chilly in attitude, and probably a germaphobe. As much as Momoka wanted to gravitate towards Kyoko, she just didn’t feel welcome. 

So instead, she did what she had always done - sit in a far corner, do her classwork quietly and efficiently, and try not to bother her classmates too much. She spent a lot of her time in class, when they covered things she already knew, staring out the window at the playground. During lunch she finds Kensuke and they eat together in his classroom. She cleans with the other kids after class and then, finally, she leaves feels like she can breathe again.

_ I’d forgotten how much I dislike this _ , Momoka thought to herself one day late April.

 

\---

 

Her sixth birthday passes. And suddenly, her seventh is coming up. It doesn’t feel like two years have passed. She’s progressed incredibly well in Muay Thai, at least for her age. The only times she goes all out is against Hibari Kyouya when he finds some reason to pick on students; she actually enjoys the fighting, it gives her good practice she otherwise hasn’t gotten from anyone but Ryohei. (She’d ask Kensuke but he has dreams of kendo, so that’s a no in case his hands get hurt.) Her grades are fine, though she finds it stifling to learn from a classroom and not her own time. Momoka had cultivated a very eccentric image with her classmates, who all know her as Crazy Momo. It’s perhaps the best relationship she’s had with classmates ever, and she barely knows their names!

(One day Kyoko comes to class very shaken, and Ryohei isn’t at the dojo. Momoka doesn’t ask what happened, or why he covers a scar on his nose with a bandage now. She doesn’t need to know.)

Of course, just as things are going alright, her father shows up. Again. Alone, this time, which she thinks is sad because she was looking forward to seeing Timoteo again someday and meeting his sons. She asks about them, and her father’s face shutters - but only for a moment, and with anger. He tells her not to ask about such things and goes to drink, feet dragging loudly on the floor.

He stays for a week only and is drunk even more of the time than he was last time. At least she got new clothes and cash out of it, which she saves in a jar in a secret hole she made in her closet’s inner wall, hidden by a big stack of manga. 

This is the last time she sees her father. When her mother tells her that he’s become a star, she hopes it means he’s dead - but knows it’s not, because her mom would be a wreck then. 

She and Kensuke fight sometimes, about stupid stuff. 

First it was about how his parents thought he had a crush on her, which ended with her revealing to both her mom and his parents that,  _ actually _ , she liked girls. They stopped teasing after that, and though Momoka had worried (after all, it was an Eastern country, she had no clue how stigmatized homosexuality was here, and it was damn bad in America despite all their progress) her mother and Kensuke’s parents were accepting and supportive. 

Then it was about him starting to act like a douchebag like his other friends. She didn’t talk to him for two months then, but apologized for being so stubborn when he apologized for being a jackass.

Their latest argument had been about Sasagawa Kyoko, who Kensuke was sure she had a crush on. It was instinctive to deny it - not only because of her ingrained response of staying in the closet, or Kyoko’s age compared to her cumulative, (though clearly Kensuke didn’t know about that) but also because she couldn’t think of kissing another person and not think of her old girlfriend.

“I don’t like Kyoko like that, Ken,” she said softly after days of avoiding her best friend, thoughts filled with another time and a girl who smiled soft like a cloud and found humor in everything, whose laugh still rang in her heart. “I loved a girl, once. And she’s gone now. I don’t know if I’ll ever love again.”

Kensuke called her dramatic, but the issue was resolved. He sat with her for a while, then, neither talking, just keeping the other company. It was nice. 

That night she put her old love to rest inside her mind. Her love wouldn’t want her to waste away lonely, so one day she would try to find love, maybe. Just not when she was in Elementary school.

Kensuke’s tenth birthday and her eighth birthday passed like a shower of rain, unexpected and over before they knew it. Then their eleventh and ninth. Then, suddenly Kensuke was twelve and she was ten and he was graduating to Middle School, where Kensuke hoped to join the Kendo Club. HIbari and Ryohei were graduating with him, which she thought was a shame. Her best friend and two closest acquaintances, gone for two more years.

The last two years of Elementary were harder on her socially than ever before. She ate alone and didn’t talk much to her classmates and was usually too tired after training to do much else than sit at the park with an equally tired Kensuke for an hour or two doing homework before going home to sleep.

She was thankful when she graduated. 

She was glad, even, that Hibari ambushed her at the gates the first day of Middle School for a uniform violation in the form of the nude studs she had in her earlobes. 

Momoka kind of regretted the time she’d thought it would be interesting to have a yakuza heir friend to spice up her life. Her life was spiced enough, she felt like she got no sleep these days.

(In the middle of June, she would regret having been born at all.)

 

\---

 

A toddler-sized individual, who was decidedly  _ not _ a toddler, lit a manila folder on fire and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. The contents of the trash lit up in flames as well, and he watched it burn from under the shadowed brim of his fedora.

As the Greatest Hitman in the world and a damn good teacher if he did say so himself, the kind of file Sawada Iemitsu had provided on his own daughter was...lacking. The one for Nana matched to a T, but clearly Iemitsu had never bothered to interact with his daughter outside shopping trips.

The image the file painted was that of an enthusiastic, frail, spoiled girl who only had one friend, a boy Sawada had described as a delinquent. It was almost expected, he thought, privy to the information on Sawada Momoka’s birth. It was usually a death sentence for something to go so horribly wrong in a birth for the infant to come out ablaze with Dying Will Flames as Momoka had. Having them subsequently sealed instantly was a practice that was highly unrecorded and unsure of to work. Any who had survived didn’t live long anyways. The fact that Momoka had was a miracle - and the fact that she had not only lived, but thrived? Unheard of. By all rights, Momoka  _ should _ have matched her file with the amounts of money Iemitsu regularly sent.

He’d have to make a new file himself. Iemitsu better be prepared to die.

Sawada Momoka, he had observed, was a quiet, compassionate individual. (Something he was going to have to break her out of if she were to be the new Vongola Decima, or force her to get strong enough to protect such values.) She didn’t talk much to her classmates, but not out of arrogance, but unease with interacting with those her age. She had multiple friends in the Middle School third year, including three well-suited Guardian candidates. She also was studying Muay Thai, and was passable at it from the regular fights she and Hibari Kyouya had. Her sexuality could be a problem for the bloodline and future generations, but artificial insemination was a viable option.

His premade flyer for an etiquette teacher will go unused. Instead he makes a new one for her worst subject, music. If she comes out of this a master pianist, all the better.

The next day, he knocks on the door as he hears a light hearted argument about scammers in the kitchen.

“Ciaossu,” he greets casually, looking up at Sawada Nana. “I’m the music tutor you hired. I’ve arrived early, and as a favor I’ll start the examination now.”

Maybe he needs to reevaluate Sawada Nana, too, because all she does is laugh and step aside for him to enter. 

“Momo-chan!” she calls down the hall as the sound of a fridge door shuts. “Your tutor is here!”

As the front door closes behind him, he feels a chill down his spine. 

(It’s the door closing that hides Momoka’s sanity, didn’t you know? It’s left the building now that the mafia is here.)

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I'm gonna continue this, this is basically a stand-alone prequel to what would be an actual story. I kind of have in mind who I would want as her guardians; Kensuke, obviously, and Gokudera on principle that I wouldn't be able to abandon him even if he burned me point blank with a cigarette that boy is just too in need of a goddamn hug, but I don't know about the others. 
> 
> Hey if you like this it'd be super cool if you left a comment!! They motivate me to continue writing things.


End file.
